toward something more vital than any picture and twice as
enchaining.

It was a face, the face of an old woman staring down at me from a
semicircular opening in the gable of the adjoining house. An
ordinary circumstance in itself, but made extraordinary by the
fixity of her gaze, which was leveled straight on mine, and the
uncommon expression of breathless eagerness which gave force to
her otherwise commonplace features. So remarkable was this
expression and so apparently was it directed against myself, that
I felt like throwing up my window and asking the poor old
creature what I could do for her. But her extreme immobility
deterred me. For all the intentness of her look there was no
invitation in it warranting such an advance on my part. She
simply stared down at me in unbroken anxiety, nor, though I
watched her for some minutes with an intensity equal to her own,
did I detect any change either in her attitude or expression.

"Odd," thought I, and tested her with a friendly bow. The
demonstration failed to produce the least impression. "A most
uncanny neighbor," was my mental comment on finally turning away.
Truly I was surrounded by mysteries, but fortunately this was one
with which I had no immediate concern. It did not take me long to
put away my few belongings and prepare for dinner. When quite
ready, I sat down to write a letter. This completed, I turned to
go downstairs. But before leaving the room I cast another look
up at my neighbor's attic window. The old woman was still there.
As our glances met I experienced a thrill which was hardly one of
sympathy, yet was not exactly one of fear. My impulse was to
pull down the shade between us, but I had not the heart. She was